Accompaniment
by CountingWithTurkeys
Summary: Everyone has demons. Sometimes the best way to beat them is an understanding girlfriend.


**Real Talk: I know, I know, I promised you a mini-series, and this isn't a mini-series. It's coming, I just haven't been in a great place mentally, so I wrote a short thing. I also fixed the dialogue issues in Rehearsal, so that's nice, too!**

 **Disclaimer: All of my stories exist within the same universe/continuity - The Symphony Universe - which exists within main canon in a "possible but not necessarily probable" manner. They're just not all posted chronologically, because where's the fun in that? All stories contain at least one reference to a future story, because I roll that way. They also usually hint where they happen within the canon continuity. I like hints.**

* * *

It's a cliche, I know, but it's dark, it's peaceful, it's calm, and I can't sleep. There's no practical reason for it, I guess. There are no enemies, no threats lurking in the night, as there so often is. I wish there were. I wish there were, because then I wouldn't have to be in this room. Don't get me wrong, it's a nice room. Objectively at least. Bonnie's worked really hard on it, has worked her butt off building the entire castle, and it shows. The walls are sturdy now, the towers taking shape. Her throne room will be done soon, as will her throne itself. Then there's the kitchens, the staff's quarters, the foyer… okay, so there's still a lot to do. She's just finished her rooms; after her labyrinth of a laboratory her rooms were the first thing on her mind. I can't blame her. I don't blame her. Until her rooms were done she slept exposed under the night sky, in a tiny cot that seemed to be designed specifically to be uncomfortable. She grumbled about it, but they weren't really complaints so much as her pouting. It was actually kind of adorable. Not that I'd tell her that, though. She can be mondo scary when she's mad mad.

But my girlfriend is a patient woman, and she's been working tirelessly to complete the kingdom's construction. I help wherever I can, because vampire and demon powers rock, yo, and if left to her own devices Bonnie would work herself into an early grave. Doesn't matter that she's immortal, she'd still find a way because despite her brainlord status she's really awful at taking care of herself and her weenie butler can only do so much. So, like I said, I help wherever I can, and sometimes that's singing a lullaby to coax her into sleeping, then never mentioning it because she gets really, really embarrassed about it super easily, and as much as I love teasing her I don't wanna push her over the edge where she decides not to let me help anymore. I like helping her.

Now her rooms are done at least, and she's so much happier to have a place to sleep that's indoors. The bedroom is spacious. A little bare right now, but it has the essentials. Her wardrobe is slowly filling with clothing (she always did have weird tastes in clothes, way too much pink that she won't even let me nibble), and her desk arrived this morning from… wherever it is desks come from. I found a couch yesterday somewhere, and a massive bookshelf the day before (she'll need a second one soon, at least until her library is finished). The newest additions to the room are the black-out curtains, because she wanted me to all but move into the room and I really don't want to burn to True Death. No thanks, guy. Her bathroom was finished last week, and she's been considering adding a hot tub to her overly complex shower that has so many knobs and buttons that I'm kind of afraid to touch them all. Not that I'm complaining about the hot tub, though. I mean, it's not like she'd want to use it alone.

But what she's most pleased with is her bed. It's large, and it might be the softest thing I've ever laid on, and I'm over three hundred years old. 'It _needs_ to be soft', she said. Something about bodies made of gum being malleable and easily manipulated; she called me a butt and stopped explaining it when she realized that I was enjoying her description _way_ too much. Right before she got to the good part, too. Unfair, am I right? Of course I am. But she's right, this bed is mega soft, and she was pretty insistent I join her in it. I'm not gonna complain though; she's soft too, and warm. Contrary to popular belief vampires _can_ feel temperature, we're just really bad at it. You know, being animated corpses and all. I can't speak for any other vamp - since, you know, I killed them all - but I like how warm she is, so I didn't exactly fight her when she requested I move into her room. Don't get me wrong, I love my tree house, but when a beautiful woman invites you into her bed you don't say no. At least, I don't. Because I'm not crazy.

Her bed is pink, so many shades of it. Light pink, pastel pink, dark pink, bright pink. Do you know how hard it is to be surrounded by delicious food and not be able to eat it? No, you don't. She knew, though, and she was pretty vocal that if I didn't restrain myself she'd do it for me. Which… I don't know, that sounds pretty awesome to me, but she called me a butt and stopped explaining what exactly restraining me would entail when she realized that I was enjoying her description _way_ too much. Right before she got to the good part, too. Unfair, am I right? Of course I am. But contrary to popular opinion I _do_ know how to be good, and I'm not gonna wreck up her bed. It's soft, it's warm, and it makes her happy.

But then… she told me that me moving into the castle - at least part time, when my tree house gets lonely - would make her happy, too. I learned after day one that wasn't true, and we're at day… I lost count. I've never been great at having an internal clock, but it's been… maybe a week? I don't know man, I just live here. But that's where I find myself now: laying in bed next to her in the dead of night. Pondering all of the choices I've made in my immortal life that led me to this specific spot at this specific time. Thinking about the odds of it all hurts my brainmeats. I'm a musician, not a scientist or whoever it is that thinks about this kind of thing.

I sigh and roll over to watch her. We had begun the night cuddling, as we so often do, but it didn't take long for her to pull away. At first it had been gradual, but every night she pulls away more and more. We'd start by cuddling, but soon enough she'd curl into herself, then away from me to the other side of the huge bed. It stings, every time. Out of habit I reach out and touch her bare shoulder, but even in deep sleep she jerks away. I sigh and roll on my back, resting my head in my hands, staring at the ceiling, at the round pastel and dark pink banners lining the tops of the walls. She had called her bed _our_ bed, claimed pretty loudly that I was her's, so I belong in her bed with her. But she still pulls away.

I haven't brought it up to her, because it's makes it too real to know that some part of her doesn't want to be near me. Not that talking to her about it would do anything. I know why she pulls away, and I don't want to hear her say it, wouldn't be able to handle it. But I know, even without her confirmation. It's because she knows what I am, and that knowledge bleeds into her mind and infects her subconscious every night, when emotions are their most sincere. I can summon fire, assume any form, heal any injury. I can manipulate things with just my mind, vanish at will, and gravity can't touch me unless I let it. I'm what goes bump in the night, heir to a pocket dimension composed entirely of pain and confusion. My birthright, my destiny unless I break away from it somehow. I have it in me to destroy, to kill, to tear things apart. I usually don't unless I have to, but it's still there, and sometimes the urge is really, _really_ hard to block out. I can't always. To tell the truth, I don't always want to because it just feels so _good_. Normally the worst thing I do is pranks - righteous, amazing pranks even - but that doesn't change what I can do, have done, will do again. I don't roll over again, but I turn my head to watch her. Bonnie's back is to me, and I can hear her soft breath, and the steady beat of her heart. It's strong, and sometimes it bleeds easily. Not as easily as it used to, not since that tranch Shoko, but it still can bleed if she lets it. I sigh. It's too much.

What's she even doing with me? I don't belong in her world, her pink and perfect world full of logic and reason. We haven't been dating long - what's a few decades to two immortals? - but long enough for me to know that at least. She's a genius, my brainlord. A refined and technical wonder-child. She's going to be a princess soon, and one day the Candy Kingdom is going to be the most powerful in all of Ooo. I know it will, because I know her, and she's tenacious and determined and headstrong and clever and I love her, want to make her happy and keep her safe... but if my childhood has taught me anything, it's that love isn't enough. It never is. Never will be, no matter what fairy tales Simon told me. After all, I loved him and he's not Simon anymore, now is he?

I can't stay here. I don't belong here. I can't get attached to her more than I have already. It's a demon thing, but we mate for life and we really don't have any say in who our souls pick. What if it picks her? What if it already has? I can't stay here, I don't belong here, and I have to leave before one of us destroys the other. I sigh once more and slide out of bed, carefully, smoothly. She's worked so hard, and she needs her rest. Even brainlords need sleep, no matter what she thinks. I tuck her bare shoulder back under the soft fluffy pink blanket and kiss the top of her head. Now comes the hard part: leaving. By which I mean finding my clothes and beating the Ball of Death home. With a frown I float to the window and peak out, carefully, just in case. It's still dark, I still enough time for me to race back to my tree house before sunrise. Without a sound - I'm good at stealth - I gather my clothes. I'm only wearing my bra and panties, and even I'm not dense enough to fly home nekkid. No thanks, guy.

"Marcy?"

I freeze. Figs, did I wake her up? No, she still sounds sleepy. If I slink away super-quiet like she'll just fall back asle-

"Where are you going?"

I gulp. She sounds more awake now. Oh great, now she resting herself on her elbow, looking right at me. It's always mega weird to me that she knows where I am, even when I'm invisible. I'm pretty sure she's got telepathic powers. She says she doesn't, but that's _exactly_ what a telepath would say. But I'm taking too long to reply. Say something, dingus!

"Uh…"

Something _better_. What the flip, Marceline. I turn into a doofus around her at the worst possible time, and if this doesn't qualify I don't know what does. Because now she sitting up, her blanket falling away. Her long hair is ruffled, and I know it'll take her hours to reform. She's wearing her softest nightgown, a ruffled yellow thing that flows to her ankles that leaves her shoulders bare. It leaves my bite mark, the physical representation of our bond and intimacy exposed, something she enjoys but has to hide because it's not like she can leave it exposed in public. She's not ready for that. That's okay. Especially since I really should be leav-

"Marcy, come back to bed."

It's a request, not an order, and for that reason alone I obey. I hesitate, and I know she sees me hesitate, but I've never been able to say no to her, and she knows that. There's just something about her that some deep part of me identifies as safe. I'm not used to feeling safe. It's irresistible, almost hypnotic in its own messed up way. With a third sigh, this one of defeat, I drop my clothes and return to her. I'll always return to her. But I don't get back in bed, I just land on it, perching next to her. I don't look at her. I can't. But apparently I don't have a choice; a warm hand rests on my cheek, gently turning me towards her. I don't meet her eyes. I can't. But once more I have no choice.

"Come on. Look at me, Marcy."

Another request, this one knowing. I know I Have No Choice, don't have it in me, never did, never will, so I meet her eyes. They're a beautiful piercing green that I'm convinced can see right through me. I feel naked. I mean… I'm pretty much naked already, but it's a different kind of vulnerable, the kind when someone can see right into your soul and wrap you around their little finger and you know, _know_ you're helpless to stop it. But her smile is still gentle and knowing, and her free hand laces my fingers. "What's wrong?" Her voice is as gentle as her smile, her eyes, her touch, and I break.

"...Me. I'm wrong." It's a mumble at best, and I want to look away, but I can't.

"Why are you wrong?" Now worry is seeping into her voice. I don't want her to worry. I should have run when I had the chance.

"I shouldn't be here." In her bed. But I can't say that, so I tap the furniture with my free hand. She gets it. Of course she does. She's the smartest person alive, maybe the smartest ever.

"Marcy… it's our bed-"

I shake my head. I find the strength in me to break her spell and I look away, at the window. Longingly. Now if only I had the strength to go to it. "...Nah. It's your bed."

"What do you mean?" Now the hand on my cheek moves to my ear and I shudder as she pulls me into her arms. Well, less 'pull', and more 'guides'. My ears are sensitive, and she'd never pull them. But now I can't look at the window, my lifeline, anymore, and my resolve breaks once again.

"I… don't think you really want me here." Please, let it go. Let me go. Let me go to some cave somewhere, away from everything pink and perfect.

She doesn't. "What makes you think that?"

"You pull away at night," I blurt out. Good job, Marceline. Way to have a will of iron. But… I guess even iron has a melting point.

"From you?"

I nod. "...Yeah. The later it gets the more you pull away. I think you know, deep down ways, that I'm a mon-"

She doesn't let me finish that sentence. "That's silly, Marcy. There's an explanation. An actual one. I know there is."

"Yeah? Then what, brainlord?" I want it to sound accusing and bitter, but it just comes out sad. Pathetic.

She looks away, off somewhere. She's thinking, but she won't let me leave, just pulls me closer. My head rests on her chest in resignation to my fate, and even through the light fabric I can hear her heartbeat, steady and calm. It's my favorite sound, and she knows it. It reminds me that she's safe. She hums in thought as she begins to stroke my long hair. Bonnie knows me too well, knows I won't pull away from such a comfy spot. Pathetic.

"When did this begin?"

I shrug. "I dunno. I guess when I started spending the night."

Another hum, an acknowledgment that she's still thinking. "So about a week…" But she's muttering to herself, and I don't pay attention. She's probably gonna talk about science junk, and it's not like I'll understand. I'm too tired, anyway. I didn't realize that before, too focused on escaping. But now there's no more adrenaline and I guess that means my body wants to abandon that idea. Traitor.

"I have an idea."

Of course she does. It's a sarcastic thought, one she doesn't deserve, so I don't say it. After a soft kiss to my forehead she slowly untangles herself. "Marcy, go back to bed. I'll be right back." Another request, and I obey without even thinking about it, because of course I do. I slide back under the blanket and watch her stroll to the other side of the room. The closet, with its lavender door and brass knob, because there was no silver allowed in her castle, ever. I frown, confused about what she's up to. There's nothing in there, it's just as bare as the rest of the room. Granted, it's a big closet, so maybe it has some dresses or science junk. Science junk turns up in the weirdest places with her. I don't want to see science junk, so I groan and close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable experiment. There's always an experiment. It's one of the things I love most about her, not that I'd tell her that. Not that I'm in the mood for one. I just want to bail before I gunk anything else up.

I crack open an eye when I feel the bed *thump*, then feel her weight on it. There's a strange lump at the base that she's playing with, but her body is blocking it too much for me to see what it is. "Uh… Bon? What are you doing?"

She turns to me, still smiling. This knowing smile is different, it's triumphant, it's self-satisfied; it means she's solved a puzzle. "I know what the issue is, Marcy. I'm sorry I didn't see it before. It was just so obvs I was too smart to think of it. My bad."

"Yeah?" This oughtta be good.

"Mmhmm. It's this." She reaches over and taps-

"...My hand?"

Even in the dark I can see her eyes rolling. "No, silly. Your skin. I hypothesize that I only pull away because your skin is cold, because the weather is getting colder now and it's making me more sensitive to it. That's all." She's clearly pleased with herself, and there's a teasing tone in her voice, but it's also loving. I guess that makes sense; no one wants to cuddle with an ice pack. But the solution is too simple, too obvious. I guess that confliction showed, even if it was hidden in the dark, because now she's laying next to me again, turning me to face her. "You just didn't see that as the problem because something in you just thinks _you're_ my problem and it's ready to believe that at the slightest provocation. You're not my problem, Marceline. You're half of me. I don't think you can understand that yet, because of all the buzz you've been through... but that's alright. You'll learn. I'll show you." Her tone leaves no room for argument, and after she pulls me in for a gentle kiss she pulls away, back to the lump.

Blankets.

As she lays what must be half a dozen blankets across the massive bed I watch her carefully. It's hard to argue with her, even when I think she's wrong. She's the only person alive that knows all the stuff in my past. Or… most of it, at least. I'm sure I've forgotten stuff here and there, stuff I've blocked out because it's too messed up. It's hard to argue with her because just like I protect her from the demons and the assassins and whatever else that tries to hurt her she protects me from myself.

If I'm honest with myself she's really good at it.

"There we go!" It was a simple task, but she's happy with the result anyway. She stretches, letting a candy spine pop and crack to align itself before sliding back under the numerous blankets. "See? They'll keep me extra warm, then you can take all the warmth you want." She sounds just a little arrogant, but that comes naturally for her so I ignore it.

She yawns, then settles against me, entwining our legs to prevent me from fleeing. I hesitate, but she doesn't; she takes my arm and drapes it across her waist, and I automatically pull her closer against me. This time she presses back against me, lacing our fingers once more. "See?" It's soft, gentle, an encouragement and not a taunt. "You're alright, Marcy. Now, get some sleep."

Bonnie falls asleep almost immediately after her declaration, but I stay awake, watching the back of her head. I can feel her abdomen expand and contract with every breath, and even with her back towards me I can hear her heartbeat, steady and strong. I gulp and pull her closer. She lets me this time. There's nothing I can do. I've lost. I kiss the back of her head and turn, just enough to summon a small grey box to me. Inside are two tiny devices not unlike earbuds. They're of Bonnie's own invention, my lifelines. They automatically kick into effect if wherever I am gets too quiet. I don't deal with silence well, so she made them for me to help keep me safe. They play a whole bunch of soft sounds to drown out silence. I roll the small box over in my hand, weighing my fate. But I already know what I'm going to do, and with practiced precision I open the box, plucking an earbud and sliding it into my ear. Tonight it plays soft music, familiar, but I can't place it. There's no point trying. I yawn and curl around the younger woman in my arms, tightening the embrace around her. My other half, the person my soul chose for me, I know that now. There's no way around it. And if I'm honest with myself I don't want there to be. I don't want to let go of everything pink and perfect. At least… she is for me. She's the best thing to ever happen to me. That's my last thought as I exhale softly, my eyes sliding shut.

She was always insistent that this room, this bed, is ours.

I think she's right.


End file.
